Photograph, Still Life: "Calla Lilly" by Camille DeFer Thompson

Calla Lilly by Camille DeFer Thompson

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Photograph, Still Life: "Calla Lilly" by Camille DeFer Thompson
“Calla Lilly” by Camille DeFer Thompson

 Photography, Still Life
12″ x 15″


Flower

by Julaina Kleist-Corwin

Calla Lily bloom
Bursts into view soft white grace
Still form, timeless space.


Calla Lily

by Constance Hanstedt

One of Georgia O’Keefe’s harem,
the white-laced trumpet
of desire,

asks so little for itself:
a deep plot of earth, enough
space to rise and breathe,

a sprinkling from time to time.
It isn’t fussy.

Perhaps in my sixties,
after weathering divorce and deaths,
I require too much:

unspoken tenderness,
fervency,
circadian doses of devotion.

Maybe I should ask for less,
live unassuming like the lily.

Or maybe I should accept myself.
Flesh, muscle,
cracks between the bones.


Calla Lily

by Susan Condeff

Calla lily bare
Reveals yellow knife guarding
its sweet heart so pure


Calla Lily

by Jordan Bernal

Bold calla lily
Perfect white with a yellow stem
Awaiting a bee


Glory

by Diane Lovitt

The light reflecting
The yellow and white pulsing
The glory now capturing


Not a Rose

by Linda Todd

A Calla Lily is not a rose.
Its fragrance is not sweet but devoid.
Love is not its significance.
White is pure and innocent.


A Calla Lily Story

by Patricia Boyle

I can never see a flowerbed without thinking of my Irish grandfather. I can
picture his lush garden, the sunshine pouring down on us as we walked the gravel paths between the beds. As a child, I would occasionally choose a flower and my grandfather would tell me its history and uses. One day I asked about the calla lily.

“Grandpa, the calla lily’s so beautiful. What does it mean?”

“It’s a symbol of purity, faith, and holiness. You’ll find it at weddings for marital bliss, and it’s often used at funerals.”

I squinted up at him in confusion. “If it’s for weddings, why is it at funerals too?”

He patted my shoulder. “It stands for purification of the soul of the person who died.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t expect a simple flower like the calla lily to have such important uses.”

With a glint in his eye he said, “Tis a beauty, to be sure, but simple it’s not. A calla lily’s not a lily. It’s a member of the Araceae family, not the Lilium family. It’s not a calla either. It’s in the Araceae subfamily called Aroideae, rather than Calloideae.” I loved to hear the scientific names roll off my grandfather’s tongue. He never spoke down to me; he made me feel grown up.

“I like the flower, even if it isn’t a lily,” I said.

“That sleek, white petal? It’s not a flower at all, but the spathe – that’s a modified leaf. The yellow stalk in the center’s the spadix. It has both the male and female parts of the flower.”

I sighed. “So the name isn’t true, and the parts are all wrong. Can you eat it?”

He guided me to a bench where we sat under a spreading oak tree. “The leaves are edible when cooked, but eating any part of the raw plant is dangerous. It contains crystals of calcium oxalate. They’re also found in kidney stones. Eating raw parts of the calla lily can bring on terrible burning and swelling in your mouth and throat. It can even cause death.”

“That’s horrible!”

He smiled. “Calla lilies can kill pets and people, yet insects pollinate them, birds eat the fruit, and wild pigs ingest the rhizomes.”

“You’re right, Grandpa. It is a complicated plant.”

He stared into the distance, and I knew his mind was back in Ireland, where he grew up. “There’s another meaning. Calla lilies are a symbol of the Irish republicans. They’re a reminder of the Easter Rising of 1916. While the British were distracted with World War I, the Irish tried, but failed, to throw off British rule.”

A blue jay landed in the oak and chattered at us, bringing Grandpa’s mind back to the garden. We rose and walked to the house, where Grandma had cool lemonade and fresh-baked molasses cookies waiting for us. While he chose a cookie, Grandpa asked, “Are you disappointed the calla lily isn’t the simple flower you thought it was?”

“Of course not! It means that even something simple can be important. Take kids. We might not be as complicated as grown-ups, but we’re important too.” I picked up my glass of lemonade and grinned, pleased with the meaning I’d discovered in the beautiful, sleek, calla lily.


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